


hope your rules and wisdom choke you

by alleyesonthehindenburg



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Dynamics, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/pseuds/alleyesonthehindenburg
Summary: That night, as Three peeled back the sheets on her carefully-made bed, her door creaked open. She focused on her pillows, unable to bear Mom’s gentle smile, stilling only when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Your father has a lot on his mind,” Mom said. Three smiled bitterly. Didn’t he always?Sometimes, she imagined walking into his office and telling him,I heard a rumour you cared about us.Mom’s hand rubbed up and down her back, like she used to do when Three was a child, and she placed something on the bedcover. Three waited for Mom to leave before wiping at her eyes, grabbing absently at the scrap of fabric Mom had left behind. It was an elegant navy blue, and in golden cursive was stitched the nameAllison.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	hope your rules and wisdom choke you

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the wonderful machangula for being my cheerleader. <3

Number Three was the first to get a name.

She was twelve years old, and came to Mom with angry tears at the back of her throat. She felt overheated and short-tempered, even more than usual, her rumours almost tripping off the tip of her tongue. It would be so easy to make Four go away when he took too long in the bathroom, or to shout at One for stepping on her toe. She didn’t like it.

Mom knelt down before her and took her hands, smiling. (It was such a real smile. When she was older, she would realise she didn’t believe Dad had it in him to programme such a real smile.) “Those pesky puberty hormones,” Mom said with a click of her tongue.

“I’m not usually this mad at everyone,” Three huffed.

“No?” Mom pressed the back of her hand against Three’s forehead, a little spark of electricity in her eye. Her smile widened. “You know, sweetheart, I think you might be presenting.”

Three froze, arms dropping from their defensive huddle. “Really?” she breathed.

“It’s normal to experience some mood swings as your pheromone production kicks in.” Mom nodded, standing upright. “It’s too early for any human to tell, but...”

“But you can, right?” Three grasped at Mom’s arm, practically bouncing on her toes. Her bad mood was forgotten in the rush of excitement - she was presenting. (She  _ knew _ she was more mature than the rest of her siblings, of  _ course _ she was.)

There was an almost playful edge to Mom’s smile as she bent down again to whisper in her ear.

Number Three made it the whole rest of the day without telling anyone, even as pride and nerves filled her chest to bursting. During afternoon training, she waited patiently for Dad to notice, mood undiminished when he barely spared a glance her way – Mom said it would be hard for a human to know, after all.

At dinner, she finally snapped. As Mom placed down everyone’s plates, Three cleared her throat, sitting up in her seat. Six pairs of eyes snapped towards her, but Three kept her gaze fixed on Dad, waiting for him to finish sipping his wine to look up at her. “What is it, Number Three?”

Her words died in her throat, her carefully-planned speech gone. Panic swelled at the thought of Dad’s irritation when he decided she’d interrupted dinner for nothing, and she blurted out, “You said when we present we’ll get real names.”

Dad’s face gave nothing away. “You have real names.”

Her siblings were careful not to look up at Dad, but darting glances towards Three betrayed their interest in the conversation. “I mean real names like other people have,” she pressed. “You and Mom promised, when we presented – “

“I am not bound by a childish promise made by your  _ mother _ ,” he said, the word laced with scorn. “Besides which, you have not presented. This conversation is over.”

“But – Mom!”

“Number Three is presenting,” Mom said, still with that beatific smile. “I’m sure you’ll all be able to tell in a few days.”

“As an  _ alpha _ ,” Three added. She didn’t miss the flash of jealousy across One and Two’s faces.

Dad sat back in his chair, lips pursed. All seven of the children waited with bated breath, food untouched. Finally, he said, “I won’t hear any more on this, Number Three.”

Five snorted, turning to his food with gusto. Everyone else did the same, even as the disappointment was obvious in the slump of Six’s shoulders, the heavy scowl on Two’s face. Three ducked her head, clenching her jaw and willing herself not to cry.

That night, as Three peeled back the sheets on her carefully-made bed, her door creaked open. She focused on her pillows, unable to bear Mom’s gentle smile, stilling only when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Your father has a lot on his mind,” Mom said. Three smiled bitterly. Didn’t he always?

Sometimes, she imagined walking into his office and telling him,  _ I heard a rumour you cared about us. _

Mom’s hand rubbed up and down her back, like she used to do when Three was a child, and she placed something on the bedcover. Three waited for Mom to leave before wiping at her eyes, grabbing absently at the scrap of fabric Mom had left behind. It was an elegant navy blue, and in golden cursive was stitched the name  _ Allison _ .

* * *

Her siblings noticed her pheromones before she did, a few days after she got her new name. During training one morning, Four pinched his nose, and said loudly, “What is that  _ smell _ ? No one told me alphas stink.”

Allison glared. She was already spoiling for a fight, had been all morning, and now her cheeks burned with mortification. Did she smell  _ bad _ ?

Dad’s voice barked across the room, ordering them to pay attention, and she pointedly turned her back on Four. Two was a better fight anyway.

Now that Allison had presented, her siblings were eager to join her. Every morning they pestered Mom to tell them if they’d started yet. One insisted he’d be an alpha. (Part of Allison hoped, selfishly, she’d be the only one.) Six alone didn’t seem in a rush to find out; he hung back, giving only a forced smile and a shake of his head when he was asked what he wanted to be.

Two months after Allison presented, as their thirteenth birthday drew near, Two stopped everyone in the hallway and said, “Call m-me Diego.”

Five caught on first, cocking an eyebrow. “You’ve presented.”

Seven gasped, and Four clapped his hands excitedly. One barely waited for Six to be done congratulating him before he said, “What are you?”

“I’m a beta,” Diego said, voice steady as though he didn’t care. Allison, with a bit of selfish relief, saw right through it. Dad always said the best thing was for them all to be alphas; alphas were powerful and feared, and that’s what the Umbrella Academy was supposed to be.

One nodded like this made sense. “Of course you are.”

“What’s that s-supposed to mean?”

“I wonder what it’d be like to be an omega,” Four said, shimmying in between One and Diego before a fight broke out.

Allison scowled at him. “Why would you  _ want _ to be?”

She didn’t notice at the time how Seven flinched, drawing back into herself. A few days later, when Five asked her to pass the salt, she quietly corrected him, “Vanya.”

* * *

Five left before he ever got a name.

* * *

Four did everything as loudly as possible. After Five left, he got worse, pissing Dad off on a regular basis, pestering his siblings until they snapped at him to stop. He stopped stealing Dad’s alcohol (family bonding, he would call it, never mind that the rest of them took a sip and grimaced and then watched as he finished off the bottle himself) and started sneaking out to get his own. They pretended not to notice.

He swanned into breakfast one morning, having missed dinner the night before (special training, Dad said dismissively) and Allison was on her feet before she knew it.

“Dude,” Diego said. Vanya watched with wide eyes.

“Breakfast, dear.” Mom passed him a plate with a quick kiss to his temple, and Four’s eyes brightened at the sight of his favourite waffles. He sat at the table, ready to dig in, and then looked around, frowning. “What?”

“Dude,” Diego repeated.

Allison gestured at the whole of him, still on her feet. “You’re – !”

“Oh, yeah.” Four smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. He shoved a forkful of waffle into his mouth, and said without chewing, “Go big or go home, am I right?”

Brow furrowed, Allison finally sat down. She couldn’t even tell  _ what _ signals Four was giving off, they were so jumbled up, but there was no mistaking the pheromones of a fully-presented omega. It had taken weeks for Vanya’s to get so strong.

One looked disapproving, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Did you take something?”

Diego smirked, never one to miss a chance to needle their fearless leader. “Why, you want some for yourself?”

“You know what this means,” Six said, before One and Diego could get into it again. He nodded at Mom, who was leaning back against the counter, watching them all with a soft smile.

Four swivelled in his chair, no doubt turning his puppy eyes on Mom. Allison never found them particularly impressive, but plenty of media journalists and local politicians seemed to think them irresistible, dubbing them the Séance’s other superpower.

Mom just smiled, raising a hand to stroke through Four’s unkempt curls. “I don’t even have the cross stitch on me,” she said. Four pouted. “Eat your breakfast, Klaus.”

Allison hadn’t seen a smile that genuine on Four’s –  _ Klaus’s _ face in a long time.

* * *

A few months later, they were crammed into the infirmary, watching in silence as Mom patched up the deep cut in One’s side. Dad had left after the mission debrief. Allison hovered beside the bed, watching One’s jaw tremble as he fought not to cry.

“So that sucked,” Klaus said. Diego snorted.

Allison pursed her lips. “You weren’t even in the fight, Klaus.”

“It’s not my fault I’m always the lookout – “

“Can we not do this?” Six emerged from the en-suite bathroom, a cloud of steam following him, scrubbing at his wet hair. “Every time.”

“It’s important to assess what mistakes were made during the mission,” One said dutifully. Allison refrained from rolling her eyes. No one else did.

“All done,” Mom chirped. She stepped back from One, and beamed at the rest of them. “Let’s check you all up!”

Diego shook his head, even as he stood to let her check on him. “No one else got hurt.”

“Actually, I stubbed my toe,” Klaus said loudly. Perched in the corner of the room, Vanya smiled.

Mom hummed indulgently, satisfied with Diego and moving on to Six. She paused, the back of her hand resting on his forehead. He cleared his throat. “Mom?”

She stepped back, and smiled at him. “All good, Ben.”

His jaw dropped. Klaus crowed excitedly, chanting their brother’s new name as Diego gave his congratulations and Vanya stepped forward, wanting to be included. Beneath the noise, Allison could just hear Ben whisper, “So I’m…?”

“You’re a beta,” Mom whispered back, and Ben’s laugh was loud and relieved.

(Years later, long after he had died, Allison would learn that he was terrified of how the thing inside him would react to the more powerful pheromones of an alpha or omega. Guess it didn’t matter, in the end.)

* * *

If Dad noticed their new names, he didn’t say anything. Allison couldn’t imagine it had escaped his attention, and wondered if he only refused in the first place because he couldn’t be bothered to come up with something for them.

Diego agreed with her theory. Number One didn’t speak to her for a week after she voiced it. At the end of that week, as they sat down to dinner, he remained standing; and when Dad gave him permission to talk, he said simply, “Mom has told me I’m presenting as a beta, sir.”

Dad hummed, and after a long, tense moment, he waved his hand for everyone to continue eating. That was that.

After they had been dismissed to bed, Allison waited under the covers of her bed, practically vibrating with tension. Finally, the clack of Mom’s heels faded, and Allison counted to a thousand before sneaking out of her room. Diego and Klaus were already waiting, impatient as ever, and Ben and Vanya emerged a moment after Allison.

They milled about in silence for ages. Allison’s patience was wearing thin – she knew One counted slow, but it was late, and this was important – when finally his door cracked open, and he poked his head out, looking at them all. Looking down at them all. “You should go to bed before you get in trouble,” he said stiffly.

“Dude,” Diego said, barely keeping his voice down. “You gonna make us ask?”

“C’mon, mi hermano,” Klaus wheedled.

Allison turned away. She knew the look on One’s face. Reaching out, she gave a small squeeze to the hand closest to hers – Vanya’s, it turned out – as One said, “I already have a name, and it’s Number One. That should be good enough.”

In hindsight, she’s pretty sure that’s when his and Diego’s relationship broke completely.

* * *

After Five left, Allison thought she knew what grief felt like. It was sadness enough to hollow her out, and uncertainty that would churn her stomach if she dwelled on it too long. It was sharpest when she least expected it, and dull when she reached for it.

Then Ben died, and Allison realised that what she’d mistaken for uncertainty was hope. But there was no hope for Ben, and the grief was all the heavier for its absence.

Walking down the hall felt like wading through mud, her own emptiness reflected back at her tenfold. The door to Ben’s room was cracked open, and Allison moved forward on wooden feet, her mind far away. She reached for the handle to shut it, but something stayed her hand, and she peered inside.

Klaus and Vanya stared back at her. Their eyes were red – crying-red, not intoxicated-red, not that Vanya had ever been one to partake. Allison drew breath, about to ask what they were doing (about to yell, to scream, to dredge up some anger just to feel  _ something _ ), but the pheromones hit her and she faltered. They were faint, overlaid by the cloying scent of grief, but they were there: soothing, mournful but calm, distinctly omega.

She took a moment to look around the room, at the blankets strewn about, tucked into corners, Ben’s favourite hoodies bundled into makeshift pillows, and had to choke back a sob. They were building a nest. Like proper packs did, in times of joy or sorrow – as if they’d ever been a proper pack, as if they weren’t two down and only a matter of time for the rest of them. Allison gasped out a breath, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, and Vanya whispered, “You can come in if you want.”

That was how Diego found them an hour later, curled into each other, too bone-deep exhausted to do more than stare at the cracks in the ceiling. Klaus shifted just enough to reach out a hand, and Diego joined them.

(Dad taught them that alphas lead, and omegas follow, and betas stayed calm and collected. Lying in the nest that Vanya and Klaus built, as Diego tried to swallow his tears, Allison didn’t feel like much of a leader.)

There was a cough at the door. Number One stood there, looking small and vulnerable, his gaze pleading. Allison tipped her head, just barely able to see Klaus in her periphery. Him and Vanya; it was their call. Their nest.

Blankets rustled by her head, and then she saw Vanya, sitting up and blinking at One with that unnerving stare of hers. “His name was Ben,” she said. “Not Number Six. Ben.”

“I know,” One choked out. “I know. I promise, I know. I – “ He swallowed. “Mom named me Luther. I know he’s – he was Ben.”

Diego scoffed, but said nothing. Allison closed her eyes.

“Okay,” Vanya whispered.

They spent the night like that, crammed into a sloppy makeshift nest in their dead brother’s tiny bedroom. By the time the sun rose and Allison woke from her half-sleep, Luther’s spot was cold.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings, like a lot a lot, about the sheer potential of a/b/o 'verse that I feel is rarely explored. Give me the pack bonds. Give me the nesting. There's so much possibility!
> 
> I've imperfectly explained the rules of my a/b/o 'verse [here](https://all-eyes-on-the-hindenburg.tumblr.com/post/626736936333246464/the-non-rapey-abo-au-worldbuilding-masterpost) if anyone's interested.


End file.
